Theatre in Review: 7th Monarch (Theatre Row)

	Gretchen Hall and Leslie Hendrix. Photo Carol Rosegg

Every so often, in a nostalgic mood, I lament the fact that nobody produces crime dramas anymore. Having grown up on the likes of Sleuth and Deathtrap -- and having pored over the film of Witness for the Prosecution so many times I could practically recite whole scenes -- I miss the days when the curtain rose on a story filled with mystery and suspense. Agatha Christie, where are you when we need you? Anthony Shaffer and Ira Levin, where are your successors?

Well, I'm taking it all back. Having, in the last few weeks, sat through Murder in the First, a courtroom drama with barely a nodding relationship to legal reality, and now 7th Monarch, I'm ready to live a crime-free existence from now on. It's not just that 7th Monarch further strains credulity with each new twist; it's that the playwright, Jim Henry, works so aggressively at trying to break our hearts that he can't be bothered with the business of delivering theatrical thrills.

7th Monarch certainly begins on a mysterious note. Raina Briar, an investigator from Social Security, wonders why the checks being sent to a Mr. Hemmerick in small-town Indiana are apparently being cashed by someone else. On arrival at the Hemmerick house, she finds Miriam, a woman in her early 30s with the affect and manner of a 12-year-old. The house's windows and mirrors are all covered over, and 15 years' worth of newspapers are stacked up in chronological order. The elder Hemmericks are nowhere to be found, but there is a large, dried-up pool of blood on the floor. Adding to the mystery, it becomes clear almost immediately that Miriam, who likes to run around in an astronaut helmet, is a kind of genius; one brief look at a newspaper page and she can instantly recall it in detail. She also has access to every word she has ever read. When asked about the whereabouts of her parents, she will only say, "They flew away in a comet." She also keeps nattering on about someone she calls "the anointed one" and is terrified of the number 43. (This is not a comment on George Bush; the action is set in 1991.)

It's certainly a teaser of an opening, but already there's trouble. Gretchen Hall brings a fair amount of technique to the role of Miriam, but, with her high, whiny voice, her bizarre habits, and with the character's penchant for using words like "aberrant," "gallimaufry," and "cattywampus" in conversation, she is a constant strain on one's nerves. (We're supposed to feel deeply for her, but really, after a few minutes, I could have done with some peace and quiet.) On the other hand, even if she seems more a collection of nervous tics than a vividly realized character, at least she's not a cardboard cutout like everyone else in the play. These include Raina; Leo, the stubborn about-to-retire cop who investigates Miriam's case; Kenneth Sharpe, the electioneering district attorney who wants to convict Miriam at all costs, as quickly as possible; and Grey, the young, inexperienced lawyer assigned to defend her. As a group, they give our legal system a bad name; none of them would last ten minutes on The Good Wife.

So many are their improprieties that, after a while, you wonder if they're not avidly pursuing a mistrial. Miriam is remanded into the care of Raina, even though the latter is a witness for the prosecution. That little fact doesn't stop Grey from indulging in some big-time flirting with Raina, even though they are on opposite sides of the case. Leo holds back key pieces of evidence from Sharpe, who is pursuing a conviction against Miriam on the most circumstantial evidence. (For one thing, there are no bodies.) I can't tell you how often these four characters all get together to discuss the case in the most improper way. In any case, it's impossible to believe that, given her bizarre behavior, Miriam wouldn't be subject to psychiatric care and testing; in fact, not locking her up probably constitutes some form of malpractice. Eventually, we realize that the mystery -- which, I admit, you'll never guess -- isn't really the point. The author's goal is to set up parallel traumas for both Miriam and Raina, so they can reach out to each other in a way that happens only in hand-wringing dramas such as this; both of their secret sorrows are healed after a brief, cure-all bout of primal screaming.

The director, Scott C. Embler, can't do much with this tame potboiler, but his cast does its best to make it simmer a little. Leslie Hendrix works hard at making Raina both tough and likable, although she is challenged by the more maudlin passages detailing her extensive family problems. Michael Cullen and Matthew Humphreys both underplay nicely as Leo and Grey. Michael Rupert tears into the role of Sharpe with zest -- it's practically a reprise of his heartless law professor in Legally Blonde -- even if he mostly exists to be humiliated by Miriam, whose encyclopedic knowledge of the characters' lives is used to expose him as a fraud.

The production has a rather interesting set design, by Shoko Kambara, depicting the unnerving interior of Miriam's house; weirdly, it's both spotless and cluttered, with alarming floral wallpaper; the upstage walls contain two doors that, when opened, transform the space into various offices, jail cells, and other locations. It's a clever and economical way of providing instant scenic transitions while keeping the disturbing nature of Miriam's case front and center at all times. The other design contributions, including D.M. Wood's lighting, David Withrow's costume designs, and David Pinkard's original music and sound design, are equally fine.

When did our mystery dramas forgo intrigue for tears? It probably goes back to Equus, another tale of a gifted youth subject to the torments of a cruel world. In this case, it's not a fair trade. 7th Monarch combines a rattletrap plot with assaultive bursts of sentiment. I don't want to have my tear ducts massaged; I just want to find out who did it and why.--David Barbour